


I Forget Easily

by weallfalldowneventually



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, M/M, No Spoilers, Thomas a cannon idiot, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:37:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weallfalldowneventually/pseuds/weallfalldowneventually
Summary: "How are you the leader of us all, when you're nothing more than a big baby," Newt stops, making Thomas stop in his tracks, "Look at you, you're pouting for fuck's sake!"





	I Forget Easily

**Author's Note:**

> Tw, stabbing, blood, death
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!!

"How are you always so cold?"

"Why are you always so hot?"

Newt gives Thomas a playful smirk, "I didn't know you felt that way about me, Tommy," before Thomas can open his mouth, Newt continues, "Plus, it's called the flare Tommy boy, it's _always_  
hot."

"That's not what I meant," Thomas mutters under his breath, a pout turning down the edges of his lips, "and you know it."

"How are you the leader of us all, when you're nothing more than a big baby," Newt stops, making Thomas stop in his tracks, "Look at you, you're pouting for fuck's sake!"

"I'm not pouting," Thomas argues, nose scrunching up in distaste, "and I'm not the one acting like the child _here_." He glares Newt down, harmlessly, hell, he could be coming at Newt with a knife, and his state wouldn't scare him.

"Are we going to stand here and argue all day, or are we going to scavenge the building?"

"Fine," Thomas says, bitterness weaved into his words, " _but_  I wasn't pouting," he says, shoulder brushing against Newts as he walks past him, muttering under his breath how Newts too stupid to even know what a pout looks like.

Newt smiles despite himself, amused by his friends childish antics.

He quickly catches up to Thomas, eyes still crinkled at the edges with left over amusement. "So, Tommy, how do you feel about splitting up?" He asks, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. He pushes it down, ignoring it completely. He's used to this feeling, it seems to arise every time he isn't by Thomas's side.

"You know I don't like you going off by yourself, Newt, it's not safe to scavenge alone."

"Is that so, Tommy?" Newt crosses his arms, tilting his head to the side. "Because I heard from Minho that last time you went out scavenging with him and Fry Pan, that you went your own way and told _them_ to stick together."

He knows he's got Thomas when he sees the boy nervously look away, "Yeah, but that's different."

"Why's that?"

"It just is!" Thomas growls out of frustration. Newt rolls his eyes.

"We're going separately, we don't have time for this Thomas, the sun is setting and we'll get done faster if we do it my way."

"Fine," Thomas says through clenched teeth, "but I swear to god if you die, I'm going to be _so_ pissed, Newt."

"Feelings mutual, Tommy," and then they begin, each going opposite ways. It seems the farther he walks, the more bile his stomach begins to try and force out of his throat.

Nerves always got the better of Newt, always made him worry, but so far, none of his fears have come to fruition.

Then he hears it, the one thing he fears more than cranks, Thomas's startled scream.

He's moving before he even registers where the sound is coming from. His bum leg never bothered him more than it does now, slowing him down in a way that makes his heart constrict in fear of not making it in time. Just as he reaches the room that Thomas's scream originated in, he sees two things, a dead crank and a severely wounded Thomas.

He freezes in the door way as he sees Thomas lying there, blood already starting to pool around him as his hands frantically try and press down on the deep gash on his stomach.

Newt's heart kicks into overdrive as adrenaline rushes through his veins, he doesn't remember when he moved next to Thomas; and, he certainly doesn't remember replacing Thomas hands with his own, feeling the boys sticky, warm blood pumping out from between the crevices of his fingers.

"What the hell fucking happened you complete and utter dumbass?" He angrily questions, there's anger in everything he does, because he fears that if he wasn't angry he would be uselessly panicking.

"The son of a bitch was hiding under the desk, never even saw him until he was slicing me open," Thomas gets out through gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut in pain.

"Did you not check for cranks?" Newt asks, blood boiling, he already knows the answer, "of course you fucking didn't. How do you forget to check your surroundings before you walk into a new fucking environment?" Newt screams, anger evident in the way he presses his hands into the profusely bleeding wound.

"I forget things easily," Thomas tries at humor, "You, of all people, should know this very well." Which only causes Newt to press harder, both out of bitterness and the overwhelming fear of how fast blood seems to be leaving his friends body. Thomas hisses, teeth clenched tight, "To be fair, I did scan the room, it's not my fault that damn crank was under the desk."

"Go fucking die," Newt responds, mainly out of habit, he's so used to Thomas doing such stupid things and narrowly missing death that it doesn't quite catch up to him. The minute it does register with him, he desperately wishes he could take it back. He looks at Thomas, and finds him already looking at him, eyes soft and fond, despite the situation.

It makes Newt stomach drop, the knowledge that Thomas may never look at him like that again weighing heavily in his already panicked mind.

"I-I didn't mean it," he rushes out, stumbling over his words frantically. Guilt already burying itself deep within his heart, slowly inching itself into the place that was reserved only for Thomas.

"I know, but it doesn't change the fact that I am dying." Thomas whispers, eyes sad, his smile even sadder, "Its okay, it's all gonna be okay," he says, a bit breathlessly.

"Yeah, it is going to be okay, because you're immune, Thomas, we'll get you back to camp and they can patch you up. You'll be as good as new."

Thomas let's out a chuckle, face twisting in regret as a fresh new wave of pain washes over him. "I don't think my immunity is going to help me much now, Newt, but I appreciate the sentiment." He trails off before one side of his mouth starts curving upwards into one of his famous lopsided smiles, one Newt would never admit to loving, "You and I both know there is no way I'm making it back to camp."

"Don't fucking say that, you bloody fucking twat!" He screams, his blood covered hands pressing all that much harder into the wound, both out of bitterness and pure fear of how quickly blood seems to be pouring from his friends body.

Thomas shushes him, eyes slowly beginning to glaze over, the liveliness, the recklessness Newt begrudgingly always loved, beginning to slowly fade. "You have to stop with all this yelling, there might be others lurking."

"Let them hear me then! Do you think I fucking care now Thomas?"

"Don't say that, Newt, you don't mean it."

"Fuck you." Newt spits, venom evident in his words, he really doesn't care who hears him, or _what_ hears him.

Because what's the point in trying to survive if Thomas won't be by his side?

"I'm flattered really, but I'm a little preoccupied with dying right now." Thomas hisses out through clenched teeth, his breathing becoming progressively more ragged in nature.

Newt feels tears burning his eyes, but stubbornly he holds them back,  
"You know what I meant, you idiot."

Thomas let's out a small puff of air, something resembling that of a laugh, "Look who's pouting now." The sound of a wet cough echoes inside of Newts head, and he has to hold back a sob, tears begging to spill over from his eyes and down his cheeks.

" ** _Please_** ," he begs, to Thomas, to the universe, to no one in particular.

"Newt, I'm cold," Thomas whispers, voice breathless and tired, his eyes looking unfocused and cloudy.

"You're always cold, what's your damn point," he whispers, voice cracking in the slightest, despite his best efforts.

"Y-you have a v-very valid p-point," Thomas forces out, eyes untrained looking forward, but not really seeing what's in front of him.

Newt squeezes his eyes shut, a few tears making their victorious path down his cheeks, before he removes his hands from the now sluggish stream of blood. He slowly repositions himself, very carefully as to not cause his friend any pain, until he is cradling his dying friend.

"You're a lucky bastard that I'm so warm than aren't you?" It's barely above a whisper yet, somehow, Thomas still hears him.

Thomas seems to focus at the sound of his voice, eyes clearing briefly as he looks over to Newt. He looks at him almost as if he's trying to memorize his face, before a small, final, smile forms on his lips, before he's gone.

Newt feels when he takes his last breath, feels it in his heart, in his soul, unimaginable pain washing over him, suffocating him in a way he thought only water could.

He let's an angry scream rip it's way out of his throat, until it turns into heart wrenching sobs. His body shakes with the force of his anguish, tears falling onto the body he cradles carefully against his shattering heart.


End file.
